


I saw the setting sun on your neck

by grandpahasNOrights



Category: Dawn of the Dead (1978)
Genre: 6-7 years after the movie so most of them have rotted away, Be gay, End of the World, M/M, Post-Canon, Zombies, all theres left 2 do is farm and raise this kid and like, except not really because this is set like, whatever bits of humanitys lefts pretty chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandpahasNOrights/pseuds/grandpahasNOrights
Summary: -And I felt the taste of you bubble up inside me.The end of the world's come and gone. Most of the dead are just that- dead. Even if the soul gets shut out, the body can only walk for so long before it starts to just /break/. Even most of the scum playing in the metaphorical ashes of society are done for.So what's left?Friends- /family/- raising this baby, and this random guy you found with a twisted ankle that was mere seconds away from being eaten. And the lingering ghost of the guy you /totally/ didn't fall for as you both fought for your lives. That's just silly.(aka: i didnt edit this literally at all this is just straight bullshit from the tap so if you see anything that looks off/odd etc thats why dude. please dont kill me)
Relationships: ;) - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	I saw the setting sun on your neck

**Author's Note:**

> here i am, jumping to another horror property and spreading my filth like some middle aged suburban wife whos positive and maskless in her local cracker barrel.

Fear.

John tried to put weight on his leg and winced. The thing was fucking busted. In the middle of nowhere. During the damn  _ end times.  _ He could hear something growling outside, snarling and shuffling as it moved on blind instinct. Had they heard him fall? Fuck.

This was it. Six years into this nightmare and this is how he goes out. John had hoped it’d be something cool, like getting run over or his head blown off by some ex-cop pig with a big gun. But no. Eaten alive. How  _ fun. _

The cadaver shambled into the doorway and locked its attention on him. This one was old enough to show its age but still move. The muscle and skin had mummified and it’s eyes were  _ gone-  _ in their place, empty sockets that just seemed to bore into John’s soul.

He didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare let himself make a sound. That thing couldn’t see. Maybe it would just… Pass by.

It lurched towards him. The thing had no eyes, but John realized it could probably still smell. Fuck.  _ Shit.  _ He closed his eyes and just waited for it to descend, to just end it all here and-

A gunshot. So loud it almost made his damn eardrums burst. Something fell at his feet. He cracked an eye open to see the body spilling out its thick, eerie looking blood. Brick red. Overly red. Redder than anything he thought was possible.

Another click.

Oh, god. Oh  _ fuck.  _

There was a man. A huge, looming man. His head was brushing the top of the damn door frame he was standing in, practically blocking the entire area off. He had a damn  _ assault rifle  _ pointed directly at John, finger over the trigger.

“Say somethin’.” His voice was muffled by the gas mask he wore. John could only stare like a damn idiot, a deer in headlights, until he motioned with the gun again.

“...Uh. Thank you.” He mumbled out. He hadn’t talked to anyone in months, if not  _ years,  _ and he hoped his voice didn’t crack too much. John tried to put pressure on his leg again only for it to buckle. He winced, grabbing at it.

“Don’t move.” The man’s voice was firm. He crossed the room in seconds, long legs making it seem effortless. He crouched down next to John and took his mask off. Brown eyes. A shaved head. Bushy looking beard, barely kept up- not that John  _ blamed him,  _ of course. His own beard was a patchy, disgusting looking mess. Living in the end of days didn’t really afford anyone time to keep themselves up. But whereas John looked like a disgusting sewer dweller, the mystery man looked… Rugged. Sort of like the image of a lumberjack from a shitty little pulp novel he’d sneak from the library before shit hit the fan. 

The man was staring at him. In a moment, John realized he’d been gawking at the stranger for damn near a minute. 

“....Been awhile since you seen anybody?” He cocked a grin. John felt his face go hot.

“You could say that.” 

The man’s hands were warm, but calloused. He was expecting it to hurt as he examined his leg, but his touch was gentle. Smooth. 

“You really tore this up, huh?”

“Yeah.” John stopped. “Wait. I uh- I’m not bit- None of them got me or nothin’-”

“-Relax, kid. I know you aren’t.” The man put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t got any teeth marks on that leg. But the bad news is this can still get infected. You need to rest, and get somewhere safe.”

John almost laughed right in his face. Somewhere  _ safe?  _ Society had fucking  _ collapsed.  _

“I’m takin’ you back with me.”

This got John’s attention. He swallowed, shifting back a bit in a panic.

“I uh- I don’t think you need to do that. I’ll just-”

“-You’ll what.” He sounded amused.

“-I’ll just uh….”

“...Bleed out and let yourself be zombie feed for every ghoul in a five mile radius?” He quipped. John looked at his leg- the wound  _ did  _ look bad. Shit. “Listen. You don’t gotta be afraid of me. I’m tryin’ to help you out.”

“Yeah? And what do I do when you take me back to wherever your camped at and use me for fuckin’ meat or something?”

“....You serious?” The stranger looked disgusted. “The fuck would make you think that?”

“There was a group out of Columbus doing that exact fuckin’ thing. They almost got me.” John shook a bit. “I used to have more people with me.”

Silence. 

“I used to have more people with me too.” He sighed. He sounded… Tired. “Now it’s just me and Fran and Stevie.”

“Three of you?”

“Yeah. Fran’s real good with medical.”

“And Stevie? What does Stevie do?”

“Eat food and color pretty pictures.” 

John squinted in confusion. 

“Stevie’s bout’ four.”

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

“......A baby? In this shit? You had a kid in this fucking nightmare?”

“Not  _ my  _ baby. Or… shit. I didn’t make it. But she  _ is  _ my baby. I wouldn’t bring a kid into this shit. Not to mention I don’t like Fran like that.”

John tried to mull this all over. A fucking toddler? A medic? 

“You comin’ or what?”

“...Don’t really have a choice, do I?” John sighed. The man shook his head.

“You don’t.”

“How am I getting there? I can’t fuckin’ walk.”

Without even saying a word, the stranger leaned down. His hands were under John’s arms, hefting him up with what felt like no effort on his part. Before he knew it, John was nestled right into the man’s chest.

Holy fuck.

“Name’s Peter by the way.” His grin was warm. Genuine. The sensation was something John hadn’t felt in  _ years.  _ It was like he stepped outside on the first day of spring- the air was warm, everything smelt fresh, and most importantly there was  _ hope.  _

“Boy, you sure like to stare a whole lot. You hit your head or somethin’ too?” 

“Uh huh.” John mumbled.

///

Fran’s nice.

Well, she pointed her gun at John for the first half hour he was at their camp, but he understands. She’s a mom. He’s a stranger with a fucked up leg who could potentially turn and start gnawing into her kid like she’s a happy meal. Eventually Peter coaxes her down enough to patch his leg up. She does a decent enough job- yells at him about how the bone’s probably fractured. His kneecap is dislocated. He’s gonna need to  _ rest it, goddamn it.  _ Peter says they should have enough food to keep him around.

“We need to, I can always go hunting.” 

There’s something about that that makes John’s skin flush. Peter’s more casual around their hideout- a cabin in the middle of a rural area. Fences peppered around the property. A little farm out back in a greenhouse. To be frank, it’s probably the coziest thing John’s seen since this all started.

“How you feelin’?” Peter asks one night. The other two are off in bed. It’s late. Probably damn near midnight if not later by now, and Peter’s nursing a bottle of jack like its a canteen and they're in the middle of the sahara. He has that lazy smile that makes John’s stomach flip every time he sees it.

“Good. It’s sore, but it’s startin’ to feel better.”

“Good. Fran said you’re really starting to respond to her treatments.” He takes another swig. “And that’s good. Wanna keep that clean.”

John nods. The two of them sit in silence for a bit, watching the fire flicker in the fireplace. By now, the amount of bodies shifting around has gone down drastically. It turns out rotting corpses can only move for so long before something just  _ gives  _ and they stop. Flop to the ground. The muscles just start to wither away and…. Boom. 

Ironically, it only took about a year or so for this to happen. The world was on fire for a year and then… Nothing. Hell, even the assholes who were out to set whatever was left on fire seemed to die out with the zombies. Besides that cannibal fuckhouse he ran into out west, most of the people seemed… Cordial. Nice, even.

“Why did you bring me back here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a stranger. I could’ve hurt you or the baby or Fran or-”

Peter laughs. It’s deep, husky sounding through the whiskey. 

“You barely come up to my chest, kid. Could throw you like a damn javelin if I really wanted too.” He said it so  _ casually.  _ He was  _ right,  _ obviously, but  _ still.  _ “You were hurt, scared, and damn near ripped open by one of those ghouls. I wasn’t just gonna  _ leave  _ you there.”

It’s quiet again. John can feel his cheeks flush, and blames it on the cold. Lies to himself like that.

“Thank you.”

“Had somebody be nice like that once. It saved my life.” Peter took a swig. Grimaces as the taste hits his tongue. “He’s gone now. But he saved my life.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a sadness to it. The way he replies. His focus is fixed on the fire now, like nothing in the room exists besides the flames and the crackling wood.

///

“You really locked yourself in a damn  _ mall?” _

Peter stood at the stovetop frying some kind of meat. The grease from the pan popped and sizzled, splashing against the tank top he wore. Somehow, none of it seemed to reach the rest of his exposed skin, the arms, the biceps that seemed so packed with muscle that-

-Shit.  _ Fuck.  _

“Yep. Landed on the roof with a helicopter-”

“- _ A helicopter?” _

“Yeah. Frannie and her boy knew how to fly. We left in it when everything went to shit. Thing burnt through gas like nobody’s business and we had to ditch it somewhere up north.”

“That’s insane.” John scooted closer to him on his little rolling footrest  _ thing  _ they’d cobbled together for him until his leg healed. 

“You really shouldn’t put that much weight on your leg.” Peter chided. “You don’t wanna stress your wound.”

“I’ll be  _ fine.”  _ John insists. “Seriously. I got this. Leg ain’t got nothin’ on me. I’ll whip it in the  _ ass.”  _

John scoots his way back to the living area, towards Fran and Stevie and the fireplace and warmth. Peter watches him go, staring as he hobbled his way back with an odd sort of feeling in his chest- like all the air in the world just vanished, and his head’s about to cave in. 

The smell of the meat burning snaps him back to reality.

///

Roger lost a metric ton of blood. Taking a leg off would do that- and to be honest, according to Fran it’s a marvel he’s even still alive. Weak, sure, but he’s still  _ here.  _

“I feel like we might have messed up here.” She’s pale. Stephen would try and blame it on her pregnancy, but Peter knows better. “Sure, the bite on his leg’s gone, but we can’t get rid of the other one-”

“So, we just treat it like a normal wound. Rinse it, clean it, make sure infection doesn’t set in.” Stephen seem’s so sure of himself, so full of shit that Peter wants to smack the little smarmy look off his damn face. He hadn’t  _ seen  _ what this does to people- not like he had. Fran had been on the frontlines of this, reporting things at the station as it started to become a pandemic, a health crisis.

And Roger.

Fuck.

Peter goes in alone. Closes the door behind him. Roger’s eyes are closed. The sheets around him are stained with blood, and the entire room smells like medical waste and  _ rot  _ in a way that the shambling corpses outside can’t even get close to. This is fresh. This is  _ close. _

“There’s a whole lot left to do before you lose me.” Roger’s bravado is gone. For once, his go-getter attitude’s evaporated and he’s just a person. Somehow, this is even worse than if he just bullshitted his way though it.

In an instant, Peter breaks.

He hopes the other two went to check something further down the hall, in one of the other rooms, or hell, even just turned the damn TV up. He’s blubbering like a damn baby in front of Roger like he hasn’t seen countless people get bit, turn, and then get their heads blown off in quick succession. Years and years and  _ years  _ of doing various government bigwigs dirty work and for once, for  _ once,  _ he think’s he’s got it good and then-

A hand on his shoulder. 

He looks up. Roger’s eyes are still full of life, even if there’s bags under them. He gives him that grin, that self assured cocky  _ thing  _ that he flashes when he just knows he’s about to say some stupid bullshit.

“Your oversized-ass is gonna waste what precious time we got left cryin’ like a baby?”

Peter sniffles. Can feel a headache coming on.

“Fuck you, trooper.”

///

He was drowning.

Caught in a river, tossing and turning and his head was underwater and shit, he can’t move his legs and one of them was just locked up. His head was going underwater and when he opened his mouth to scream there was just water. Water and debris and-

John jolted awake. 

Peter was over him, hovering and watching him like a hawk. There was a hand on his shoulder to steady him. The couch John was resting on was missing its blankets, the pillows- all of them were on the floor.

“You good?” Peter asks. John just sort of nods like a dumb idiot, but he sees right through it. Peter scoots him over- again, with one arm like he weighs  _ nothing-  _ and plops down on the couch next to him. 

“So… You have that uh…. What’s the term.” Peter fumbles a bit.

“Post traumatic?”

“Yeah. That. You got that?”

“Who doesn’t at this point.”

Peter nods. Johns not wrong, he knows that, but still.

“Wanna talk about it?”

John shakes his head. Shit, his entire  _ body’s  _ shaking if he's being honest. He hears Peter sigh behind him, feels him shift a bit.

“Can I try somethin’?” He asks. His tone is gentle, if a little apprehensive. John looks back at him and slowly nods his head. “Just relax your body.”

John felt Peter’s arms around his middle, hefting him up and pulling him towards his side of the couch. When he was put down, he was square on his chest. 

“You ok with this?” John can hear his voice vibrate around him. His breath on his head. An arm around his back, holding against his body like Peter’s a safety raft and John’s on the damn Titanic. “I don’t wanna make you feel freaked out when you just had all that an-”

“-It’s ok.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I uh… Yeah.”

John feels his body relax for the first time that night. Peter’s breathing is even and John can hear his heartbeat through his shirt. It’s so  _ mesmerizing.  _ Something so simple, so basic that he’s not heard in years.

“This is nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” John swallows. “You uh… Smell nice.”

Peter gives him a weird look. Not upset, but sort of bemused. 

“I smell nice?”

“Yeah. Sorta… Earthy? Nice and uh… Strong.”

John could feel his face burning. 

“Well, that’s nice.” Peter laughed above him. Fingers went through John’s hair, playing with it sort of absentmindedly. “You smell good too.”

“I do?” John hoped his voice didn’t break as he asked. He knew it did.

“Yep. Like kitchen spice. It’s nice.”

///

“Don’t think we got a whole lot. Longer.” Roger’s voice was starting to slur. He looked like shit; pallid, sunken eyes, clammy. Peter had never really stuck around to watch the process in graphic detail, but this seemed like it was in the later stages.

“We got the doors blocked off. Most the zombies cleared out. Just some towards the back, by the Penny’s left and that’s all.” Peter knew damn well what he meant when he said “a whole lot longer.”. He knew exactly what every single word of it meant. He was still having trouble  _ vocalizing  _ that though.

Roger had started to fidget. Thrash around, snap his jaws at the air like a caged animal. The other two had nearly run out of the room when they’d first seen him do it, screaming and reaching for their guns like he’d died on the spot.

Peter just flinched. Let the tick pass. He knew it was just that, a  _ tick.  _ He was close enough to still feel Roger’s heartbeat, feel the heat off his body, smell the floral bodywash he’d  _ insisted  _ on looting from the beauty store next to the office.

For now, he was still here. 

“Not much left.”

“You’ll make it through the night.” Peter’s voice didn’t waver. Didn’t betray how he was practically  _ begging  _ him to last. If just for one more night.

“Just in case.” Roger rasped. “I want you to do it. I don’t trust the others.” 

“Steve would miss.” Peter scoffed.

“Fran would  _ cry.”  _

It seemed so sudden to have this happen. They were just starting to get everything nice and safe, then boom. Maybe if it was just his leg, this wouldn’t  _ be  _ as bad. Maybe it could’ve been contained, and not spread up his entire body, making him rot from the inside out and just…..

Peter looked down. Roger had closed his eyes and dozed off, but even resting he could tell he was frail. His breath was ragged, uneven, and he looked like a mummy. All the color from his skin was gone. His hair looked greasy, straw like, unkept and stringy. He was, for all intents and purposes, an absolute shell of what he’d been before.

“Love you.” Peter mumbles into his hair. His lips peck against the top of Roger’s head, and he pretends he doesn’t hear the garbled response he gives back.

///

“If you want I can get off you. I don’t wanna make this weird.”

Peter looks down at the half asleep mass on his chest. John’s looking up as best as he can in his position, craning his neck and staring up at him with a sort of wide eyed look. 

“What’s weird about it? We’re sharin’ body heat.”

“I just said you smelled nice.”

“Well… Was it a lie?” 

“Exactly. Nothin’ awkward about that.”

Peter’s hand went back to John’s head. His fingers managed to sift through his hair without catching on any tangles- something John thought was impossible until tonight.

“You just got it bad’s all.”

John felt his stomach flop.

“Got what-” Peter’s laugh interrupted him. 

“Calm down, kid. It’s alright.” He soothed. “Shit. You think I don’t think about you either?”

“You  _ do?” _

“Yeah?” It was like Peter thought he’d said the sky was purple or something. “Look at you. When you get real into shit you kinda get this big bug eyed look like it’s the best thing you’ve ever saw in your life. It’s adorable.”

“So you think I’m cute because I have… Bug eyes.”

Shit.

“There’s other reasons too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Besides… Can’t help fallin’ for random men when I haven’t seen anybody but Fran and the baby for at least a year.”

Peter shifted. As he did, he let John fall into the crook of his arm. His body was sandwiched between his and the couch now. He’d never thought it was possible to feel this warm.

“Now… If I’m  _ wrong,  _ please correct me.” Peter’s hand found his chin, and a thumb was grazing his cheek, “But I feel like you’re just the same.”

John’s face went red.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

“You’re a very handsome man. Of  _ course  _ there’s nothin’ wrong with falling for you.” 

Peter chuckled. His smile was so bright John thought he’d go blind- like staring at the damn sun in the middle of the day. Before he could will himself out of it, John shoved himself upwards and planted a kiss on Peter’s lips. Peter seemed almost too eager to return it; he practically melted into him, a hand on the back of John’s head to steady him. To keep him from trying to gnaw his face off like one of those ghouls in the wilderness outside.

:”Very, very handsome.” John repeated as he broke away. Peter looked flustered, smiling like an idiot. 

“You want me to stay with you tonight?”

“On the couch?”

“Yeah.”

“...Is there enough room for the two of us?”

Peter went quiet.

“You got a point there. Wanna… Come back to my room instead?” John perked up. “I wanna keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re safe.”

“I’m not safe out here?”

“It’s not that. I meant… I wanna keep you close. Within arms reach.” 

Peter didn’t wanna force him. He didn’t want this to be awkward. He’d fucked up with the couch. Feeling John so close, how he felt against his side, the taste of his lips, the way he practically snapped at the opportunity to just  _ embrace  _ him.

“Can you carry me there?”

///

They’d been on the road for two months now.

Frannie was close to her due date. She couldn’t keep up as well as she used too, and keeping her around in this state was dangerous. Peter knew he needed to find someplace for the two of them and  _ quick. _

“What do you think we should name it?” Peter asked as he helped Fran down the trail. She grunted, trying to keep her balance with her center of gravity so out of sorts.

“I- haven’t really thought of it yet.”

“Did you have anything in mind-” Peter stopped himself. There was a pack of them up ahead. It looked like five, maybe six or so, all clustered together. This wasn’t as big of an issue now as it’d been when this had all started. By  _ now,  _ they knew how to get around them. Shutting up, limping around like they didn’t have any fucking brains left, slathered in the guts of one of  _ them.  _ As long as they didn’t look too alive, didn’t  _ smell  _ too alive, they left them well enough alone.

The cluster moved around them. Didn’t pay them any mind.

“-With Stephen. Did he have any ideas?” Peter asked in a hushed whisper. Fran shook her head. She was always nervous about the herds. After the mall, Peter didn’t really blame her.

“Can I admit something?”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t even know if it was  _ his,  _ really.”

Ah.

“Ah.” Peter nodded. He wasn’t one to judge. He couldn’t judge, not in the current state of the world. Even if society  _ still  _ existed, he still wouldn’t care. Whatever Fran did was her business.

It didn’t make this less awkward though.

“So… Should we pick something out?”

“Probably a good idea since I look like I’m gonna pop any day now.” Fran slumped against a tree. Peter reached out to her, only to have her swat him away. “I’m fine, Peter. I’m ok. I just need a second.”

They sat. Rested. Listened for any sounds of movement, be it dead or alive. The woods, thankfully, were quiet. 

“I’m thinking Stevie if it’s a girl.”

“ _ Stevie?”  _

“Yeah. Like that singer. It could work.”

Peter didn’t argue. It  _ could  _ work.

“What if it’s a boy, Fran?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Roger.”

///

The next morning Fran wakes up to the two of them in the kitchen. John’s hobbling all awkward on his leg, but he’s got a load of eggs slopped onto a plate. She know’s he’s the one who made them- Peter’s are always fried, but these are just scrambled. Stevie’s never had scrambled before, and she’s so wrapped up in the anxiety of her throwing a fit that she doesn’t even register John’s wearing Peter’s sweater. Swimming in it.

She tries to hide the smile on her face. Both of them see it.

“Heard that group up north’s looking to trade.” Peter’s got his back to her now, trying to play it off. “They said if we give them a hen they’d let us have some of their tomato crop.”

“Really?” Fran grabs Stevie and hoists her onto the booster seat they’d managed to scavenge. She’s not a baby anymore, but the kid’s still short. “Can they throw in anything else?”

“What more do you  _ want?”  _

“Well, I just think a whole hen’s gonna deserve more than a couple tomatoes.”

“We don’t even grow them.”

“She’s right though.” John scoops some egg onto Fran’s plate without even being asked, “I think it’d be a good idea to ask them for a seed or something. Add it to the greenhouse.”

Peter brings his attention away from the stove to look John over. His gaze is soft, full of warmth. The smile he cracks is something Fran’s not seen in months- if not  _ years.  _ It’s something that almost brings a damn tear to her eye.

“Good idea.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> now listen to me young man, i am talking directly into your ear now. i need you to do me a favor. you will do this for me. i need you to go to gamestop, and i need you to ask the bastard working the counter if they have gay peter washington content on the PS2. if you come back empty handed youll be in big trouble mister. you will never see the light of day.


End file.
